


Do you know...

by bbanzaiz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A/U, F/F, Malia is a protective puppy, Minor Allison Argent/Kira Yukimura, Past reference to drunken driving, Refrences to physical assault, no supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4641957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbanzaiz/pseuds/bbanzaiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Malia moves to a new town for a new start, she doesn't expect Facebook to ask if she knows Lydia Martin, a childhood friend she hasn't seen in twenty years. Intrigued, she sends a friend request...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do you know...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mynightmarestays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynightmarestays/gifts).



Malia groaned as she hauled the final box through the front door of her new apartment, and collapsed with it on the bare hardwood floor. She was never, ever moving by herself again. Across her studio apartment, various boxes were stacked high, her bedframe lay in pieces, and her mattress was pressed up against the far wall.

 

The kitchen was a nightmare, and the tiny bathroom was the zone of “whatever’s in this shit can keep”. It had taken her four hours to haul everything up the three flights up stairs, and she’d almost called it quits when her mattress had wedged between the railing and the wall on a turn.

 

Exhausted, she shut and locked the front door, and grabbed her cell phone. After a firing a quick text to let her dad know she’d finished unpacking, she flipped the mattress down on the bare floor and collapsed on it. Nap first. Start her new life in San Fernando later.

 

~

 

Two weeks after moving in, Malia finally had internet again. Between starting her new job, and learning to navigate the city, and constantly forgetting to buy groceries, she’d been a little lax on calling the internet provider. But, lo and behold, the technician had finally left, leaving her behind with a high speed connection and a laptop begging to get online. Her Facebook account had been woefully lacking attention, and several of her friends back home wanted photos.

 

While her laptop powered up and ran through a disgusting amount of required updates, she scrolled through her phone, grinning as she saw her dad’s latest shared photo. The grin turned into a grimace as a previous reminder popped up, reminding her to get groceries before coming home.

 

Whoops.

 

Glancing at the clock, she winced. 5:30 pm was prime rush hour traffic. Pizza night again.

 

After ordering her food, Malia finally, finally logged into her Facebook account. While she started the upload for all of the photos to make a new album, she updated her profile information. Job information, check. Relationship status, double check. Goodbye Stiles, hello wide new world of dating in a brand new pool of potential. Hopefully a new pool of potential without the extra dose of lying and a victim complex that had him never, ever accepting responsibility for any wrongdoing. Jackass.

 

Ugh.

 

She moved out here to stop thinking about that asshole, not rehash the reasons she’d finally dumped him.

 

Malia updated her location information and had almost gone back to start sorting her photo album when a name on the “Do you know?” suggestions caught her eye.

 

Lydia Martin.

 

Why was that name familiar?

 

It took a moment, but Malia soon remembered red hair, a crooked smile, and a very, very tiny voice uttering commands. She slumped back against her couch, eyebrows drawing close.

 

“Huh.”

 

It had been years since she’d thought of Lydia. They’d been best friends as children, practically next door neighbors. Then the accident had happened when Malia was six. After the deaths of her mother and sister, her dad had moved them across the country to be closer to his family shortly after the funeral.

 

Closing her eyes, she could remember a tiny hand fitting into her own on the actual day of the funeral, and small arms hugging her as she’d cried.

 

It couldn’t be the same Lydia, could it? The icon attached to the account didn’t have a photo of an actual person, instead it showed what looked like a math equation. Malia’s strong suits had always been in physical science, not numbers.

 

Clicking on the profile, she sighed. Friend locked.

 

Thinking for a few minutes, she finally decided to send a request. If it wasn’t her Lydia, no harm, no foul.

 

Mind made up, she sent the request and went back to fixing her newest photo album. By the time the pizza delivery buzzed, she’d entirely forgotten about the request.

 

~

 

When her phone chirped an alert the next evening, Malia honestly wasn’t expecting to see a private message.

 

Lydia Martin: Malia Tate who used to live in Beacon Hills?

 

Grinning, Malia typed in a response.

 

Malia Tate: Yes!

 

Lydia Martin: What brings you to San Fernando?

 

Malia Tate: The usual. Needed a life change. When did you get out here?

 

Lydia Martin: A while ago.

 

A few seconds went by before Malia realized Lydia didn’t plan on elaborating. Huh. Fair enough.

 

Malia Tate: So what do you do out here?

 

Lydia Martin: I teach.

 

Malia Tate: You’re a teacher? What happened to owning Greenland?

 

Lydia Martin: … We were five, Malia. I’m honestly surprised you remember that.

 

Now that it was mentioned, Malia was too. Granted, she also remembered that at five she’d wanted to be a tiger, or a coyote, or a bear and live in the woods in a tree fort.

 

Malia: I know. I wanted to be furry and live in a tree.

 

Lydia: LOL. You did. Nevermind the fact that animals can’t build forts.

 

Malia: See? Yours was totally more realistic.

 

Lydia: When you put it that way…

 

Malia: So what do you teach?

 

Lydia: Math.

 

That explained the profile icon. Speaking of…

 

Malia: So do I get the privilege of being your facebook friend, or do I need to go down memory lane more?

 

Lydia: Someone thinks they’re special. And just why should I accept your request? It’s been years, you could have grown up to be a serial killer for all I know.

 

Malia: Uh, that was morbid.

 

Lydia: A woman can never be too careful.

 

Malia: I’m not a serial killer?

 

Lydia: Exactly what a serial killer would say.

 

Malia: Or someone who wasn’t a serial killer.

 

Lydia: Just a moment.

 

Intrigued by the conversation, Malia pulled her laptop out of her work bag and booted it up.

 

Lydia: Okay.

 

Malia: Okay? Okay I get to be your friend again?

 

Lydia: Okay, I’m back.

 

That stung a little bit.

 

Lydia: I have to go. Do you want to talk later?

 

Malia: Sure.

 

Lydia: I’ll message you. Bye.

 

Well, that conversation was weird. Opening her laptop, Malia waited a moment for her screen to boot up, and opened Google. She hesitated a moment, wondering if running a search on Lydia would actually confirm her as creepy or not. Whatever, Lydia had access to Malia’s profile to do online stalking all she wanted. Typing in Lydia’s name, she relaxed back into the couch cushion.

 

“Let’s see what you’ve been up to.”

 

~

 

Lydia: Hello.

 

Sent 35 minutes ago

 

Malia had been driving when the message came in, and old-fashioned or not, she had a firm rule of no texting or talking while in the car. She might have felt a little bad, though, for making her wait. Especially since she’d been dying to talk to Lydia about the results of her googling.

 

Malia: Sorry! Navigating traffic.

 

Lydia: Very responsible of you.

 

Her lack of impulse control overcame any sense of formality Malia had, and her next message came right out.

 

Malia: You didn’t say you were some kind of math genius!

 

Malia waited as Lydia started typing a response, stopped, started typing, and stopped. Maybe googling her and blurting out the obvious _was_ creepy.

 

Lydia: So you looked me up.

 

Malia: Kinda?

 

Lydia: You realize you’re not helping your case for not being a serial killer.

 

Malia: Come on! It was just a regular google search!

 

Lydia: Says you.

 

Malia: It’s not like my facebook profile isn’t public and open for you to look at whenever.

 

Lydia: Speaking of, you really should set that to private. You never know when a future employer might find something.

 

Malia: Don’t change the subject! You’re like, literally a genius! Lydia, you teach at CalTech!

 

Lydia: I’m quite aware of where I teach.

 

Malia: You have a PhD!

 

Lydia: Again, stating the obvious.

 

Malia: You’ve authored important papers on K-Theory!

 

Lydia: You actually looked that up?

 

Malia: Well, it was on your staff bio. But I looked up what K-Theory was.

 

Lydia: Oh? What do you think of it?

 

Malia: I honestly didn’t understand any of it. I know it’s really smart people stuff?

 

Lydia: It was nice of you to try, at least.

 

Lydia: What do you do at your job? The Northridge Hospital sounds exciting.

 

Malia: Ugh. I’m exhausted.

 

Lydia: Are you a nurse? It doesn’t say what you do at the hospital.

 

Malia: Aha! You did look!

 

Lydia: Fine, I looked. Happy?

 

Malia: :D Very!

 

Lydia: So are you?

 

Malia: No, I’m an EMT for them.

 

Lydia: Oh.

 

Malia: After that accident, I guess it kinda wormed in.

 

Lydia: That’s very noble of you.

 

Malia: I guess. I like helping people.

 

There was a pause, and Malia wondered if the shift in tone was too heavy for only their second conversation in two decades.

 

Lydia: I’m sorry. I know I’m being weird about the friend request.

 

Okay?

 

Malia: It’s fine. I messaged you out of nowhere. Remember? Creepy googling serial killer potential.

 

Lydia: … I’d like to explain it, but I really can’t do it tonight. Can we talk later?

 

Malia: Sure. Is everything okay?

 

Lydia: Yeah, I just can’t talk about it tonight.

 

Working in the medical field, and on scene for truly awful medical emergencies had honed Malia’s “spider-sense” of when something wasn’t right.

 

Malia: Hey, do you need me to call someone to come by your place? You don’t have to tell me where, but I can pull some strings to get a check in.

 

Lydia: No! No, I promise, it’s nothing like that. It’s just hard to talk about and it’s ridiculously heavy and silly.

 

Malia: Okay. I won’t judge, I promise. But can you please take my phone number? Just text me “Want to order chinese?” and I’ll have someone come check on you.

 

Lydia: It’s really okay, I’m not in any danger, I swear.

 

Malia: Please?

 

Lydia: Fine. I have to go, but I promise I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

 

Malia watched as the green dot disappeared next to Lydia’s name. She sent her cell number anyway, and closed her laptop. She didn’t like to think about the implications for Lydia’s secrecy.

 

Ugh. She wanted a beer. Or two. But if Lydia DID need help, she wanted to be sober. She’d have to settle on Coke and leftover Indian food instead.

 

~

 

Lydia: Are you free?

 

Her phone’s chirp roused Malia from the nap she’d collapsed into after getting home from her shift. She stretched her neck, rubbed her eyes, and did a quick check to make sure she hadn’t drooled on herself.

 

Satisfied she was slobber free, she reached for her phone.

 

Malia: Yes! How are you?

 

Lydia: I’m okay. Thank you for being patient. And for being concerned about my safety. That was very gallant of you.

 

Malia: It’s okay. You don’t even have to tell me tonight if you don’t want to.

 

Lydia: No, I should. And you can just decide after I’m done, okay?

 

Malia: Okay?

 

There was another pause, Malia could tell Lydia was steeling herself to launch into whatever explanation she felt she had to give.

 

Lydia: I left Beacon Hills when I was 18, right before what would have been my senior year of high school.

 

Malia: Did your parents move?

 

Lydia: Let me finish!

 

Malia: Sorry!

 

Lydia: And no. My parents divorced when I was a sophomore. I stayed with my mom.

 

Malia: I’m really sorry.

 

Lydia: It was for the best, honestly. Anyway. I had more than enough credits to graduate early, so I did.

 

Lydia: The reason why I left is ridiculous and belongs in a soap opera, but promise you’ll let me finish before you say anything?

 

Malia: I promise.

 

Lydia: Allison Argent moved to Beacon Hills my sophomore year. I told her on her first day she was my new best friend, and that was that.

 

Lydia: And it all stemmed from there. Do you remember any Argents?

 

Malia: Not really?

 

Lydia: Okay. Well, Allison’s aunt, Kate, lived in Beacon Hills. And about four years after you moved, there was a major accident. Derek Hale was driving two of his little brothers back from a junior lacrosse game when they were hit by a drunken driver. Kate was the driver, and she sped off right after, leaving them there. Derek made it, but his little brothers died.

 

Malia: Oh damn.

 

Lydia: Exactly. Her brother, Allison’s dad, Chris, was the one who found out and turned her in. So when her dad moved to Beacon Hills five years after Kate had been convicted, the Hale family wasn’t thrilled.

 

Malia: I bet.

 

Lydia: Talia Hale, Derek’s mother, she went and met with Chris and they’d had this long talk, and I guess they’d agreed to let bygones be bygones. Especially since Chris had been the one to turn his own sister in.

 

Lydia: Not everyone in the family agreed with it.

 

Lydia: It was tense for a while, but people were starting to get used to Argents being in town again, and Allison was starting to feel like the kids at school weren’t judging her. So we decided to go to the winter dance together. Her dad had called her and needed to talk to her, her grandfather had just been diagnosed with cancer. She walked off crying, and I went out to look for her.

 

There was a very large pause in the conversation, and Malia had a terrible, roiling bout of nausea in her gut.

 

Malia: Hey, you don’t have to tell me anything else.

 

Lydia: No, it’s okay.

 

Lydia: I went to go look for her, and I ran into Peter Hale.

 

Lydia: He wasn’t as forgiving as Talia was. And when he found me instead of Allison, he decided I’d be just as good a message to send. And he attacked me.

 

Malia: I’m so sorry.

 

Lydia: He didn’t… you know.

 

Lydia: But he pretty much mauled me. I still have awful scars running up my right side, and there’s a scar across my throat, too.

 

Lydia: When I woke up in the hospital, they’d already caught him. And his trial turned into a public spectacle all over again. Talia Hale, and her oldest daughter, Laura, came to personally apologize to me, but there were people in town… they didn’t say it, but they acted like it was some eye for an eye bullshit.

 

Malia: You didn’t do anything to them!

 

Lydia: I know. But by the time he was convicted, his fancy lawyer had gotten his charges reduced and he was only sentenced to three years.

 

Malia: You have to be fucking kidding me!!!

 

Lydia: So I graduated early. Chris and his family were moving back to Boston, and they offered to let me go with them so I could start college early. I know it’s silly, but between knowing he’s been out of jail for years and with my scars, I don’t really trust everyone.

 

Malia: I am SO, SO sorry that happened to you. You know you didn’t deserve that right?

 

Lydia: Of course! I don’t really know why I decided to tell you all of this. Especially when we just started talking again.

 

Malia: No, it’s okay! Thank you for trusting me. I swear, this doesn’t change anything.

 

Lydia: You don’t think I’m ridiculous?

 

Malia: Never.

 

Lydia: Well, with that out of the way, did you maybe want to meet up? You could come over to my place? Allison will be home, you can meet her.

 

Malia: That sounds great. Uh, how long have you two been dating?

 

Lydia: LOL

 

Lydia: We’re not dating. Platonic life partners, maybe. But we’re not dating. She’s married. She and her wife, Kira, live with me.

 

Malia: Oh.

 

Lydia: They’re in a punk band, so they travel a lot. When they aren’t playing they crash here.

 

~

 

Malia tried not to pace in on the sidewalk. After getting Lydia’s address and ending the conversation, Malia had promptly punched the wall. Then immediately ran to the freezer for an ice pack for her hand. After calming down, she’d spent the rest of the night wondering what she was supposed to wear. Was it a date? Why on earth was she wondering if this was a date? Where did that come from? Why did she _want_ it to be?

 

She’d ended up calling Erica, who’d had to spend nearly an hour talking her down and helping her find an appropriate outfit to wear. Malia didn’t even want to think about how many hours worth of teasing her friend got out of that call.

 

Now?

 

Now she was outside of Lydia’s apartment. Palms sweating, mouth dry, and still fighting the urge to call in a favor to have someone go give Peter Hale a visit.

 

Focus.

 

Meet Lydia.

 

She could do this.

 

She entered the building.

 

~

 

Malia knocked a few times, and stepped back from the door. She heard laughter behind the door, and shuffling.

 

When the door opened, it would take Malia several minutes to even register the other two women in the apartment.

 

She saw red hair, bright eyes, and a stupidly pretty crooked smile, and felt a wave of warm and fuzzy something roll through her limbs. She couldn’t help but grin widely.

 

“ _Hi._ ”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the twfemslashexchange_round2


End file.
